A Handful of Knuts
by Incitata
Summary: For some people there is no black or white, only grey. The story of a betrayal.


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A Handful of Knuts

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By **Incitata**

"Martyrdom … the only way in which a man can become famous without ability."

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The Devils Disciple (Act III): 

George Bernard Shaw

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~0~

It seemed so simple back then. I don't think I ever meant things to happen the way they did but I'm no longer sure of that. I _am_ sure that I didn't mean it to end this way.

I'd always been a bit of a loner, too fond of my own company but I liked to be with others too. I was never quite popular, never really disliked; always on the edges shuffling around in those shadows between groups. 

That was always my talent. Insignificance.

I moved from one circle to the next and back again. When I was there I was among friends and when I was gone I was forgotten. I learned to listen. One group always wanted to know something about the other group and I could usually provide. They never thought to question _how_ I knew.

It wasn't until I got to Hogwarts that I realised that I had always been a little less than other people, a little different but that didn't seem to matter to my new friends. I think it made them feel comfortable, to have someone they could look down upon and feel a little sorry for. They would always compete amongst themselves, fall out with each other, but never with me. When they argued I was there for each of them I listened carefully and advised until they were reconciled. I was simply there for them. 

Their rock.

~0~

Poor little Peter, they said behind my back. 

Peter Peter, Pumpkin Eater. 

An unfortunate nickname I picked up on Halloween in my first year. It was meant affectionately but I hated it. I smiled bravely and laughed with the others taking being the butt of the joke in good spirits, but that isn't what annoyed me. I hated suddenly being the focus of attention. I wanted to stay out of the light.

My friends were protective, they sensed that I was weak and when our enemies, the sort of enemies any gang of boys acquires tried to threaten me they would be there. Weakness is useful like that, if you're not ashamed to exploit it. 

It united us. It suited me.

~0~

By the second year we were inseparable, Remus, Sirius, James and I. We knew each others secrets. Dark secrets for boys so young. I the quiet one caught up in the fun of the others; always the hanger on. They were different to me; they had only one another but I had other friends.

The thing about Hogwarts is that your house means everything, it defines who you are. But quiet little Peter was unburdened by the pride the others felt for their house. I have never turned down an offer of friendship no matter the source and so I floated silently between houses, talking and listening. 

I was always reserved, never one to gossip but somehow I always heard everything, storing away each detail until I needed it or until someone asked for it. I was happy to help. I was born with the will to please, not servile exactly but to facilitate. 

I should have been an administrator. Paperwork would have suited me.

~0~

I have a certain skill, unique and dangerous. 

Do you know how hard it is to plant suggestions and convince someone that in the end the idea was their own?

It's almost as difficult as growing orchids; fragile flowers that can be destroyed by the merest breeze especially if that breeze is a breath that carries the wrong word that might cause doubt as easily as a draught might destroy the flower. 

It is a skill, one that I honed in that year. When I _tagged_ along, so many of those ideas, those tricks we played were my own but they never knew. With them it was not difficult for they believed me to be a little less than they.

Peter faithful Pumpkin Eater, always ready to go along with the joke.

~0~

Back then I thought it possible to be all things, to be everyone's friend. I kept no secrets I told no lies. People loved me for it, in a fair exchange of information everybody won. And I was so quiet, always patient, always trying to succeed. I was never suspected. It was those who made a show, those who excelled at magic that were the focus of investigation when tricks went wrong. I blended so well into the background that I may as well not have been there.

Those next few years at school flew by, we studied, ate, slept and studied other more personal subjects in the early hours when the rest of the tower slept. 

I questioned at first, yes it was to help Remus but I wondered was it worth all the extra effort. Then it began to dawn on me what such a transformation would mean if we achieved it. Then I became enthusiastic for the plan.

I studied with the rest but I am unfortunately not a good wizard, transfiguration did not come naturally to me. It was hard but in our fifth year I finally saw the rewards of my sacrifice, first James, then Sirius … how many more weeks did they struggle to help me succeed? I forget, but by the next full moon we four were together again.

It also gave me freedom when we were apart. As a person even if you are reticent you are there, visible but as a rat you truly become the shadow. I learned a lot in those final years as I finally cemented the two sets of relationships that would determine my life today.

Our gang had enemies, which gang doesn't? I mean isn't that the point of banding together? There can be no solidarity without a cause, but I had also become friends with our enemies without the knowledge of the others. It was a worthwhile exercise. I always knew what the other side thought. 

I kept in touch with them too.

~0~

James married. A pretty girl I'd never really noticed before, I don't even know which house she was in. A new dynamic to our gang of four. Sirius was the best man of course. Once that day, slightly drunk and with the smell of orange blossom in my nostrils I thought that they had forgotten me, we were all there but I was set aside. 

Sirius, Remus James and Lupin sat on the top table, decked in white whilst I sat elsewhere with aged aunts and old flames. My place supplanted by the girl.

It hurt. It struck me then the price paid for choosing shadow, for letting others take the risks and the adulation. The moment something brighter than you comes along you disappear. Then I heard those words again in the speech. 

I cringed at the sound. 

"Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater!" A great roar erupted at my name and like the first time I smiled and laughed though the tears pricked at the corner of my eyes. Wasn't this meant to be an occasion of joy?

It's a Muggle rhyme I believe. And I truly hate it. Poor innocuous peter who everyone wants to help because they feel so sorry for him! Remembered only for the one time he thought he would try and make people laugh, when he ate a whole pumpkin pie at Halloween without a pause for a drink or a breath. That is where it came from and until now I thought that it would haunt me forever.

It seems so odd that they never knew my power, for it is a power, to make people trust when for yourself morality is just another device. It was my talent. 

It was easy to make people like me and trust me by supplying them with what they wanted. I never felt that it was wrong to exchange information for information. Perhaps that is where I went wrong. It was just another conversation then somehow, I'm not really sure when, the deal changed. But it did. I was offered something new. Power.

Of course I always had a power because I was harmless and inoffensive. Always a good friend. I had influence because people trusted me but this was something I had never imagined. I ignored the implication of the offer and continued with my life.

We were fighting a war but still I wondered. There were deaths on all sides. Could I mediate? I did not want the glory but being able to strike that bargain, that interested me. No one else would ever think of doing it, it did not matter who took the credit. A war between Mages won through politics and negotiation, it appealed to me.

I went back and agreed terms. Not the terms I believed them to be and I swear that when I took the oath of loyalty to serve _him_ until death I felt less fear in my heart than when I had taken similar to serve Dumbledore's cause. I still believed that I could work both sides as I had done before, sharing rumours, sharing gossip of friends and enemies, able to slip in and out of the shadows. A rat flitting between light and darkness.

~0~

My world as long as I can remember has been grey but suddenly it was becoming darker and darker. But my friends were as ever protective and justified my distress. Poor Peter, so much weaker. The tried hard to shield me from what they thought was the source of my worry. They were both right and wrong. It was stress but none that they could save me from.

Autumn came. 1980. There was a spy I our midst. Once too often the Dark side had known our movements. Who could it be?

I was as bewildered as the other sat first but slowly it dawned. What had I become and what exactly was I meant by the deal that I had made, _he_ said that it would endanger no one, but now began to wonder exactly what was meant by the deal I had made. But if I abandoned the light what hope would I have? My skill after all was that of moving unseen and unheard and one cannot do that in total light, or total darkness. When that was gone I had nothing else to offer.

One night, very much like this I agonised over what I should do, should I take sides? If I choose the light my dear protective friends will try to shield me from the dark lord's wrath if I can play down what I have done already but if I choose the dark and abandon my friends forever I cease to be useful. With them I have access to information, with out that I am nothing.

I had no illusions, I am not a powerful wizard, my skills are rather more base than that. 

I know you are doubting the truth of what I say, that you cannot believe I was sorted into Gryffindor but I am showing precisely those traits that distinguish members of that house. The problem is I am loyal to whosoever I am with. No, I decided, a Gryffindor does not quail in the face of danger or take the easy route out. I decided to stick to the path I had chosen and remain in the twilight and that decision took bravery worthy of Godric Gryffindor himself.

They never did suspect me. Not quiet little Peter. 

Rumours abounded and I gleaned that two of our own had begun to suspect one another, I began to cultivate this feeling. It surprised even me how quickly it grew but neither of them would voice their suspicion, that made it worse because it festered beneath the surface. If only they had talked about their feelings, if only they hadn't listened to the quiet unassuming little man who would hear no ill of his friends. 

If only they hadn't been so stupidly trusting.

I told myself that none of them would be harmed. 

It really is quite incredible what the mind will believe even when all evidence suggests the opposite. James and his wife were already in hiding and things were becoming more and more difficult for me both with my friends and with my master. Information was becoming more difficult to acquire and so I was becoming less and less useful. I needed something, something big that would assure my position. Twists of fate forced by carefully planted rumours offered hope. There was no guarantee but it might prove such an elegant solution. 

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I was to be the secret keeper, not Sirius. It was his idea to use me … who would suspect? I could barely disguise my pleasure but I managed. We gathered one day at Godric's Hollow, a tiny little house and the charm was cast. They were so grateful to me for what I was doing, for the danger that I was facing for them.

I went from there into hiding where I waited for days turning things over and over in my mind. I had that final piece of knowledge that would make my future certain, I did not eat or sleep I merely sat looking in at the wall and sipping from a bottle. Ten floors up a nondescript Muggle building, grey like me. No magic here apart from the protective charm surrounding the few filthy rooms that were to be my home from now on. Faded paper peeling off the walls.

The mark upon my arm burned one night and I ignored it. I couldn't leave my bolt hole, not then anyway. I was astonished by my own disobedience but then I was torn, I feared what would happen to me for that act of disobedience but reasoned that if I chose to keep faith with my friends that would be the least of my worries, besides, as a spy there were certain times that I could not obey. It would damage my cover and that was understood. 

It used to be so easy, divided loyalties, being on both sides. I thought I could never lose. I looked down at the bottle in my hand. Almost empty now … courage on call, I thought as I raised it once again to my lips and drained the last few drops of liquid. 

Four, five maybe six days passed. On the final morning I woke from my stupor still slumped in the same chair. Filthy and unshaven I got to my feet and walked to the fireplace. I looked in the cracked mirror above the mantelpiece it sliced through my reflection, I looked haunted and afraid. 

Is this what hiding is about? I asked myself pushing a strand of greasy hair out of my eyes. I still had a choice. Sirius would be here later, to check that I was okay, a friend coming to check on little Peter. Smelly filthy Peter too addled by drink to think clearly … but I was thinking clearly as I stepped into the shower and began to remove the residue of that week of exile.

I would not live in hiding. I could not. I had an opportunity and I had to use it. See, I had convinced myself by now that _he_ only wanted to talk to James, that _he_ wouldn't actually harm them. But inside I knew that I was buying myself a life with theirs and I thought that I had picked the winning side. 

I couldn't apparate from the flat, a precaution we had taken to stop any of the Dark Lords supporters from bursting in on the Potters Secret Keeper so I slipped out into the hallway leaving what possessions I had inside. 

~0~

Even on this level the building was damp. I passed six closed doorways, painted green like my own as I made my way to the end of the corridor. It was a well chosen hiding place. Who would look for a Wizard in council flat in Peckham? 

The doors to the lift were wedged open with a milk crate, even if it had worked I don't think that I would have used it. The walls were covered in coloured scrawl and the floor littered with god knows what. Even the stairwell reeked of urine. I was pleased to be leaving. 

If this is how Muggles live, truly they are no better than animals. Even most animals will not willingly destroy their own homes in this way. If I had any doubts left the sight of that corridor and that lift would have been enough to persuade me. There really was no place among us for Muggles. Vermin! 

A couple of boys loitered at the bottom of the stairs, killing themselves slowly with cigarettes. Yes, it was the right thing to do.

The whereabouts of the Potters would guarantee the protection and gratitude (if such a word could be applied to my Lord). I had chosen to abandon the light.

The thought that I could never go back terrified me. I had always been able to return but this time was different. Final, no going back.

Peter Peter, Death Eater.

Of course I had forgotten that in my drunken state I had ignored a summons from the Dark Lord. If I remembered I might not have been quite so eager to go to him. But I had forgotten, though I remembered quickly enough when he punished me. I deserved it, not for disobeying him but for what I was about to do to James.

"I can't go back" I reminded myself, "I can't live in hiding." Its either me or James, 

Me won.

When I delivered my secret I experienced the most beautiful and most terrible moment of my life. Everyone was struck dumb when I, usually so reserved and quiet at such assemblies fell to my knees and announced.

"My Lord. The Fidelius charm has been performed upon the Potters." 

I have never really liked being the centre of attention but I thought for once a bit of drama was necessary. I could imagine the looks on the faces behind the masks. Incredulous, aghast, wondering how I could be so stupid as to come here and tell Lord Voldemort that the Potters were beyond his reach.

But I saw only one face and that face was whiter than bone. I could not read the statement but something akin to rage was simmering in his eyes. He walked toward me and I feared for a moment that I would never get to deliver my news. He petrifies me. Usually I would do anything I could to avoid drawing his attention but those eyes burned on me now.

A hush descended. I was shaking and rather wishing that I wasn't there.

"I am the Potters Secret Keeper!" It was barely more than a whisper but in the silence it was heard by all.

"Where are they?" He asked casually as if I had just commented upon the weather.

"Godric's Hollow." I gasped, my throat was dry.

"Godric's Hollow? How appropriate!" He replied. 

I don't think I have ever seen a face so evil filled with so much glee. The sight was more horrible than the same visage twisted with rage. The smile sat uneasily on his warped features. 

"You will receive your reward when I return Wormtail. Go back to your hole and wait until I summon you."

I nodded and muttered something, I forget what. I scrambled back away from the circle, back into the shadows.

That is all he said. I would get my reward that night. My future was assured.

James was as good as dead and most likely his wife and son. I had condemned to death three people and to my surprise it didn't bother me that much. 

I didn't return to that horrid little flat. The thought of the smell of damp and sight of peeling wallpaper didn't appeal to me. And the knowledge that Sirius was due to check on me. I didn't think I could face him. Instead I apparated here, to a Muggle City and walked. 

~0~

No-one paid me any attention as I traipsed along the river bank, as I leaned on the stone bridge looking up at the peninsula. There is really only one street in the old city. It stands dominated by an ancient cathedral and a castle almost circled by a loop in the river.

That night I sat in a pub drinking alone, it was Halloween, even Muggles celebrate Halloween and in this city the Muggles wear robes just like we did at school.

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The Shakespeare. It is even more pokey than the Leaky Cauldron with hidden rooms at the back, just the place for conspirators to plot and eavesdroppers to listen.

I sat waiting for the lancing pain as the dark mark on my arm began to burn. I found myself watching the clock. 

Do you know how slowly the hands move when one is waiting for something? 

I didn't until then … seven … eight …. Nine … ten …. I had no more Muggle money left, even if I had the man would not have given me anything else. It happened as the Landlord pushed me out into the street. The mark on my arm burned. I wrenched up my sleeve to see it. Now would be my moment of triumph. What I had done no longer mattered, I had a new protector then as I watched the mark burned, livid red on my skin then faded, to black and then to nothing.

No! I cried, my right hand searching my skin, it had gone. It could not have gone. Nothing could remove it … unless!

I panicked then. I had never for a moment considered that he would be beaten. Hell, Sirius and James they knew, and they would come after me. I ran down the road. Where could I hide? I had betrayed my friends and there was no-one left to look after me, to protect me. They would track me down and throw me into Azkaban. The Dark Lord was Dead. 

I collapsed beneath a statue of a man, a conquering hero on a horse standing in the centre of a square. I sobbed on that cenotaph and finally I slept though my dreams were haunted by a black shadow that pursued me until eventually its jaws clamped round my head and it shook me and I awoke. 

I blinked in the sunlight. My head throbbed, where the … then I remembered. I sat up and looked down at myself.

Haggard, clothes wrinkled, I looked like an old man. The whole morning I just sat at the base of that statue not knowing what to do next. I had no-one to turn to. Someone threw a handful of change at me as they hurried by mistaking me for a beggar. I picked up the coins. All of them small and struck from copper. A grand total of six and a half pence! Not exactly generous. Peters personal fortune. That was all I had, not even a handful of Knuts.

I still did not know what had happened

I saw a young man pass by. He stood out from the others in the street. Maybe it was the expression of pure delight or maybe it was the fact that he wore a bright suit of emerald green beneath his black robe that made me notice him. He was a wizard, no mistake about that. I stood up and caught up with him.

"What's happened?" I asked slipping on the cobbles. I still didn't know the details.

"You don't know?" he gasped. "Have you been living under a rock? It's You Know Who! You Know Who is Dead!" He thrust a wrinkled copy of the Daily Prophet into my hand. "Last night, he murdered a couple but he couldn't kill their son. The boy lived and You Know Who is dead!"

"The Potters …" I muttered as I looked down at the page. "Their Secret Keeper betrayed them."

I don't even know if he heard me. He had already moved on. All around me, all across the country witches and wizards were celebrating and here I was feeling sick. 

I had sent the Dark Lord to his death.

I found that knowledge was more disturbing than the fact that my one time friend and his wife were dead. I had already come to terms with that but I hadn't reckoned with my new ally dying. 

I had sent the Dark Lord to his death. 

I wondered that if I came clean would my old friends forgive me. I could plead that I was tortured, that poor weak little Peter couldn't take it. Maybe they would forgive me … and protect me. 

No, even they would not forgive me not for this. But Oh, when I think what could have been. 

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~0~

It is hard to think as a rat. Wondering who will catch up with me first. I haven't seen any sign of _his_ supporters, they must all be too busy thinking of ways to clear their names to bother with me but they will come. I know it. The only way they will find me now is if they slaughter every rodent in the world. But somehow I don't think that will deter Padfoot. 

He came close just an hour ago. Twice now, each time I reached cover just before his jaws could clamp around my body and crush me. He was drawing close again but I decided that if I had to die it wouldn't be as a rat. 

I sat back at the base of that statue, from there no-one could sneak up on me then after a while I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A dog just watching me. 

I got to my feet and headed into the crowded street walking quickly with my head bowed and collar turned up. 

It was following me. Why doesn't he do something? I asked myself, he's found me, he must be angry, why is he waiting? Maybe I'm wrong, maybe its not Padfoot, just a …

A reflection in a shop window. It was Sirius. He had found me.

My mind worked quickly. I am still surprised at my own ingenuity. Sirius was the only one who knew who the Secret Keeper really was, apart from me of course. I couldn't run, not from here. He wouldn't try anything in a crowded street would he? He was incensed with rage but I was desperate. I turned and faced him.

"Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?" I shrieked at the top of my voice sobbing about murder through my tears. He was too slow. 

I had a knife concealed and In one swift action I drew the blade across my hand and reached for my wand which I had wedged at my back, secure in my belt. 

I muttered a word.

Then just as he drew his wand there was a blinding flash and the whole street shuddered, plate glass windows shattered and the earth split open. 

At the moment the blast hit I transformed and scurried down the hole. Rather a live rat than a dead man I thought. 

I left only a severed finger behind. The end of Peter Pettigrew, loyal friend who died trying to catch the murderer of a friend. It was a fitting epithet. There was no way he could prove that he wasn't the Secret Keeper, that he wasn't the betrayer.

Dust fell into my fur as I descended into the sewer and above the screams of the panicked Muggles I heard the sound of laughter.

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~fin~

26th November 2001: I began to write this fic about three months ago but it is only today that I've had a chance and the will to revise it. 

29th November 2001: A few minor edits. Sadly I am without a beta at the moment and so errors creep through.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated characters are and remain the property of J K Rowling, Warner Brothers and anyone else with whom she has chosen to share them.


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